Something Afoot
by Olive Drab
Summary: Oneshot. Spring has come to the 4077th, but one member of the gang has a problem. Just a bit of fun. Enjoy!


**Something Afoot**

BJ Hunnicutt yawned, rubbed his eyes and allowed the world to come slowly into focus. He didn't feel any more awake than when he had fallen into bed after the latest marathon stint in surgery.

"Morning, Sleepy – or is it Dopey?" BJ turned his head to see Hawkeye Pierce grinning at him from across the tent. He had woken first and was reading a magazine of dubious educational value.

"Grumpy, more like," said BJ. "It was morning when I went to bed - if it's not afternoon by now, I'm going right back to sleep."

Hawkeye consulted his watch. "It is, in fact, twenty minutes after noon," he said. "Which means that I have had just over six hours of blissful and uninterrupted slumber. What time did you get in, you dirty stopout?"

BJ yawned again. "I dunno. A couple of hours after you, I guess. I had to finish up on Elliot; you know, the kid with the head wound. You and Charles were both out if it when I came in."

"That looked like a tough case," said Hawkeye. "How did it go in the end?"

"Well nobody came to wake me, so I assume he's doing okay." BJ hauled himself off his cot and pulled on yesterday's clothes. "I'd better go and check on him, then we'll get some breakfast, or lunch, or whatever."

"I think 'whatever' is what they serve most days," said Hawkeye as BJ went out.

Seconds later his head appeared back through the door. "Okay, where is it?"

"Where's what?"

"My boot. I left both my boots outside because I didn't want them under my nose after yesterday's session, and now I have the right one," he held it up, "but the left has gone." He held up the other hand to demonstrate its emptiness. "Come on Hawk – any other time I'd be up for it, but I'm tired and hungry and I need to get over to post-op."

"Beej, what would I do with one of your boots? In the first place I have my own, and in the second place you could practically hold a barn dance inside one of those things. Your boots are useless to anyone but you, you great galoot." Hawkeye paused. "And talking of things oversized, here comes an ego we both know and love."

BJ stood aside as Charles Winchester entered the tent, whistling. He had his hands in his pockets and an uncharacteristically benign expression on his face.

"Good morning, gentlemen - or rather, good afternoon," he said, beaming. "And what a fine day it is. Even in this cultural vacuum, the coming of springtime can bring a gladdening of the most jaded heart."

"Oh, to be in Asia, now that April's here," misquoted Hawkeye drily. "Charles, have you seen a stray boot on your travels? Doctor Hugehooves here managed to lose one in his sleep." He gestured towards BJ who was still holding his solitary item of footwear.

"Yeah," said BJ. "You were up and about before both of us. Is it some weird Winchester tradition to hide a guy's clothes on the first day of spring?"

Charles snorted. "Listen to what you have just said, Hunnicutt, and then pick any one of a hundred reasons why it is a ridiculous suggestion. I have simply been taking a constitutional stroll in the sunshine while you two snoozed the day away. We Winchesters require remarkably little sleep in order to function at optimal levels for extended periods of time."

"You were snoring like a moose in heat when I came in," said Hawkeye. Charles gave him a withering look and Hawkeye stuck out his tongue in response.

BJ was becoming frustrated. "Come on, guys - help me out, will you? I'm standing in my socks in the dirt out here."

"Well, come and stand in your socks in the dirt in here," suggested Hawkeye.

The look BJ gave him was enough to convince Hawkeye he'd done enough teasing and it was time for some constructive ideas.

"Look, can't you just wear your Class A's?" he said. "I mean, I know that awful brown colour would clash horribly with the rest of your stylish wardrobe, but….."

"I don't have them," said BJ.

Hawkeye looked at him incredulously. "Beej, to lose one shoe is just careless, but to lose three…"

"I gave them away."

"You gave them away?"

"Remember that old Korean guy who came through last week, trying to get someone to buy his bicycle for a few bucks? I gave them to him." BJ shrugged. "Well, how many times have I even worn the damn things?"

"Hunnicutt," said Charles. "That man was well into his eighties, and at least two feet shorter than you – no pun intended. You can't tell me those gargantuan boots of yours are going to fit him?"

"He could stuff them with grass or something I guess," said BJ. "They were better than what he had on his feet at the time, anyway."

"Why, what did he have on his feet?" asked Hawkeye.

"Nothing."

Hawkeye sighed and stood up. "Okay, look - I'll go across to post-op and check on your patient, and I'll see if I can sort this out while I'm there."

He left, and Charles carefully selected a book from his shelf and sat down.

"Cheer up, Hunnicutt," he said with a smirk. "Maybe there's a circus in town and Bozo the Clown can help you out."

He sniggered delightedly at his own joke, and opened his book. BJ fumed in silence until Hawkeye returned.

"Okay," he said. "Elliot had a good night, nobody's seen a boot out on its own, and the supply room hasn't got anything even close to your size. I have, however, solved your mobility problem." He bowed low and ushered BJ outside with a sweep of his arm. "Hopalong Hunnicutt, your chariot awaits."

Colonel Potter and Margaret Houlihan looked up as Hawkeye pushed the wheelchair into the mess tent. He left BJ by their table and went over to pile food onto two trays.

"Afternoon, boys," said Potter. "Something happen to your legs I should know about, BJ?"

"Only to what I need to tidy up the end parts," said BJ, lifting his foot. "My boot went walkabout."

"He's a body without a sole," added Hawkeye, sitting down and pushing a tray over to BJ.

"Seems strange to lose just one of a pair," said Margaret. "Don't you have any idea where it might be?"

"I am both shoeless and clueless," said BJ, reaching for the coffee. "Where's Radar? I need to order a new pair. I guess they don't come in singles."

The colonel piled sugar into his cup. "He should be along pretty soon. He took a jeep over to the 8063rd. There was a mix-up with the supplies – we got two hundred tins of corned beef meant for them and they got the three spares tyres we need for our jeeps."

"I can see how it would be easy to get the two things confused," said Hawkeye as he sniffed carefully at his spoonful of unidentifiable goo. "In fact I think we had the original tyres in fritters yesterday. Maybe your boot's gone the same way, Beej. Nobody touch the choux pastry."

Father Mulcahy and Klinger came in, Klinger wearing a little black number and a tasteful string of fake pearls, and BJ found himself explaining his problem yet again.

"Sir, you know you could have your pick of my extensive shoe collection," said Klinger. "I have everything the well-dressed surgeon could wish for this season – glitter, glamour and glitz. But the problem is size. Your toes get to where they're going five minutes before the rest of you."

Hawkeye looked thoughtful. "If we don't get you something to wear on those delicates toes of yours, you're up the creek without a paddle, buddy." His eyes lit up as if a revelation had occurred to him. "Hey, maybe the world-renowned Ouijambou Watersports Club has a canoe going spare."

"Big feet run in my family, okay?" said BJ loudly to no-one in particular.

"If that was meant to be a joke, it didn't make it," said Hawkeye.

"Big noses run in my family," offered Klinger innocently.

Hawkeye clapped his hand to his forehead theatrically. "Even worse!" he groaned.

"Klinger, that's disgusting!" said Margaret.

"Can we please get back to the business in hand?" said BJ, shooting his bunkmate a poisonous glance.

"Yes indeed," said Father Mulcahy with a mischievous smile. "After all, there's no business like shoe business."

Hawkeye laughed delightedly. "Very good, Father! Trust a man of the cloth to get them rolling in the aisles."

"Okay people, can the wisecracks for a moment," said Potter. "Hunnicutt, I can't afford to have you out of action, but nor do I want you wandering round the place with nothing on those feet of yours, whatever size they might be. As sure as rain is wet, you'd end up mangling your metatarsals, or else picking up some kind of infection. Can't you just wear your Class A's until we get you a new pair?"

BJ shook his head. "Afraid not, Colonel," he said. "They got wet somehow and the stitching fell apart. I never got around to ordering replacements."

"Shoddy workmanship," agreed Hawkeye, catching his eye.

The door to the mess tent opened and Radar O'Reilly came in, looking around. Noticing the group at the table, he came over to join them.

"Oh, hi," he said. "I wondered where everyone was."

"Mission accomplished, Radar?" asked Potter.

"Yes, sir. I dropped the tyres off at the motor pool. Oh, and here's your new boots, BJ. Turns out someone at the 8063rd ordered a pair your size by mistake a while back, and they were just sitting in the supply room." He handed BJ a parcel, which the surgeon stared at in amazement.

"Radar, how in the world did you know I needed new boots?"

Radar's expression said "whoops" loudly, but he tried to bluff it out with a shrug and a modest smile. "Hey, they don't call me Radar for nothing, you know," he said.

Hawkeye grinned. "Radar, you little devil, did you steal BJ's boot?"

"Oh no, sir!" exclaimed Radar indignantly. "I'd never steal!"

"Calm down, son," said the colonel, frowning at Hawkeye. "Don't get yourself in a tizzy - just tell us what's going on here."

"Well," said Radar, shuffling his feet nervously. "I was walking past the Swamp this morning when I saw her and she kept fussing around these boots and I knew they had to be BJ's because, well, nobody has feet that big, and then she came back again and she was carrying twigs and stuff, and I thought that's not a very safe place. I couldn't just leave her! I was going to ask, honest, but you were all asleep and….."

"Wait a minute, Radar," interrupted BJ. "Are you saying a bird nested in my boot?"

"Well yeah, I guess," said Radar, his breathless explanation effectively halted.

Next to BJ, Hawkeye began to shake with silent laughter.

"A _bird_ nested in my _boot_?" BJ repeated.

Hawkeye howled and thumped the table with his fists. His laughter, always infectious, began to spread round the table.

"So what did you do with it? Where is it now?" BJ was sure the answer would only add to the general hilarity.

"Um, it's on the roof of the officers' club, sir, where it'll be safer. I made sure the mom went back to it after I moved it…"

Hawkeye clutched his sides and nearly fell off the end of the bench. Then he took a deep breath and seemed to recover himself.

"So tell me Radar," he said earnestly. "These new boots – were they going _cheep_?" He collapsed once more, and by now everyone in the mess tent was sniggering.

BJ unwrapped the parcel and started to put on his new footwear. "I guess I'm going to get every bird joke in the book now, aren't I?"

"Sounds like the good doctor's losing his goodwill," said Klinger. "We'd better beak-areful what we say."

"It seems some people just can't take a yolk," said Father Mulcahy, shaking his head sadly.

"Now, Father," said Potter, looking at the padre sternly. "Stop egging them on."

Hawkeye clapped his friend on the shoulder. "Cheer up, Beej," he said in mock sympathy. "We don't mean to be fowl to you."

Margaret scowled at him. "Leave him alone, Pierce." She paused for effect, then grinned at him, unable to help herself. "You're such a birdbrain."

BJ finished lacing his new boots and fled, their laughter following him out into the compound. It was going to be a long, long day.


End file.
